Heavenly Company

Recently, I observed a flock of beautiful geese and ducks that the Lord so masterfully made. As I watched them, I was just amazed by the color orange. The orange that colored their beaks was so beautiful. It almost seemed unrealistic. How could an orange that beautiful exist? That doesn’t even begin to speak of its texture – so luscious that I longed to touch it. Out of fear of getting snipped by the bird’s unpredictable beak, I restrained my curiosity.  How good is the Lord to have created such imaginative creatures? He has a plan. The wandering geese and ducks know nothing about coronavirus. They just waddle along nibbling at their feathers and green grass in search of something to eat.

A brave goose approached me as I observed the flock from a bench beside the pond. I expect it was driven by the faintest thought that I might have a treat for him. As it came closer and closer, I was able to gaze deeply into his eyes. Eyes of the most incredible blue. Blue like an infinite, crystal-clear body of water with a dark black center. As I stared into the eyes of this beautiful goose, I wondered what it may see in me. I will never know, but what I do know is that his eyes were awe-striking. How kind of God to afford me the opportunity of this experience.

This is a difficult time for many of us. We all have different challenges during this uncertain time. Some seem thornier than others. While I am beyond blessed in many ways, I remain human. I still struggle with yearning for things to be back as they were before March 2020. I long to hug my friends and family without worrying if I am going to make them sick or that they might make me sick. I want to get out and live life in the “normal” we knew before. Yet, that is not my reality right now. I am left in the company of my cat and walks alone - that on occasion provide unexpected company – Heavenly Company in the form of white, white birds. Though this company could not speak “human,” they acknowledged me - even if it was out of shallow, food-wanting intentions. Oh, to be acknowledged and known by another. Even if it is only by birds, it seems that when whoever or whatever acknowledges me, I am reminded and comforted by this truth:

“You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely. You hem me in behind and before, and  you lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me,” even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.” A selection from a Psalm of David – Psalm 139:1-12

Quiet Moments. Precious Memories.

Prologue

As I have been preparing for an upcoming show, I have tried to allow myself to reflect on my work and articulate my thoughts behind it. Recently some dear new friends provided me with a listening ear as I articulated thoughts behind pieces in my current body of work. Seeking to answer their questions out loud allowed all of it to click. Just like that. It all made sense. I thought it all made sense 2 years ago. 12 years of working under my belt and the stimulants, thoughts, and motivations that fuel my work continue to become clearer with each passing year. Each time I think I have it all figured out, something new is discovered! This is the joy and beauty of art making! I can't wait til I'm 70! 

Artist Statement - An ever-changing document.

Tension. It is present within our world. We desire comfort, peace, and rest, but are often met with pain, confusion, and toil. Often, to overcome the burdens that we face, we reflect on moments of tenderness, tranquility, and ease that come from our past. Reflecting on memories of yore, we long to go back. Some call this nostalgia, but I identify it as faith for we cannot go backwards. We can only go forward. It has been said, “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”  The precious memories from our past are sweet glimpses of what is to come. It is through faith that I have this hope.

I explore the concept above through the creation of objects, forms, and materials drawn from architectural and domestic spaces.  Preconceived ideas of comfort and stability are questioned through opposing form and material juxtaposition. The raw materiality of aged and reclaimed wood in union with raw and unrefined ceramics and concrete hearken back to days of old; memories of childhood.  The multiple and repetitive processes displayed, communicate a sense of order and expectancy that tempt a feeling of comfort.  Yet, upon closer inspection, situations that seem to have gone awry are apparent.  Ceramic doors, depicted as bricks, are unable to be opened, grid-like scaffolding is constructed in a temporary and tenuous fashion, and pillows are cast in concrete. Noise. Noise. Noise!

Be still. Listen. Observe pearls and well-crafted wooden structures nestled in harsh concrete pillows, fragile eggs in a tattered quilt, and a small seed-like pod perched in chaotic structures made from remnants of dilapidated homes. Faith grows. Quiet and still moments. That is where hope is found.

Homegrown Intentions - Reflecting on my roots.

As I have been facing some changes in my studio lately, I have picked up sewing again. It is something that I did in high school and college; a little in grad school, but not in a while. I have also been reading and writing and reflecting and thinking about what is important in life. I am blessed to be an artist and I do not regret pursuing this path. I know it is my calling. However, there is something even greater than art that I think we (or myself) need to remind ourselves of often. We artists can sometimes get hung up on ourselves as the passionate beings that we are.

More important than art is relationships. Relationships with people. As I remind myself this yet AGAIN, I remember a quote by Paul Greenhalgh that I was introduced to in graduate school in a seminar at the University of Florida taught by Linda Arbuckle. It came from the book, The Persistence of Craft. Greenhalgh said,

“Millions of visitors trail around the world’s museums and galleries each year, mutely acknowledging the importance of art without ever experiencing it, because, in reality, the art is no longer there.  Works of art are not objects: works of art are relationships between people and objects.  If the relationship does not exist, neither does the work of art.  Context and environment are important.  They should remain in consideration when any work is presented.  Art is primarily an idea.  Remove the idea, and only social class and economics remain.”  

As I recently revisited this quote, I was reminded of a story that I wrote in undergrad.  I think even then, I was getting at it - I knew relationships were more important - but I didn't fully understand it yet. Quite honestly, I still do not know if I fully understand it, but I think there are dots between these different ideas and hopefully I will figure out how to connect them one day soon.  I want my work to reflect this intention.

I will now share this story that has never been shared publicly. It was written in 2010 about my undergraduate senior show - 8 years ago.  I now think that my Grandmommy herself was an artist. She was a home artist. A homemaker is what we call them. That's the kind of artist that I really want to be more than anything else.  I think in revisiting sewing, I am seeking to speak to that maternal desire that is within myself as a woman.

“Homegrown Intentions”

Milburn, Kentucky – that is where I spent approximately 13 summers of my life.  My great-grandparents’ farm was my second home.  However, it is not the gathering of eggs, rummaging through old barns, or building of tree houses that surface in my mind when I think of those Kentucky summers.  Though all of those memories have made a lasting imprint on my life, it is my “Grandmommy” herself that I recall.  Yet, what I remember most about Grandmommy, other than her threadbare, floral housecoat, is her generous spirit. 

            Though I despise the taste of them, unless they are fried and green, my Grandmommy had the plumpest and most attractive tomatoes in all of Western Kentucky.  I can see them now, spread out on a huge wooden spool that, though once a house for cable, now served as a “stout” platform.  Lying on this spool, under her carport was the ideal environment for her beautiful tomatoes to appropriately ripen.  I can see her standing over them, with hand on hip, considering the plan she had intended for them.  “Should this one be canned whole, juiced, or sliced and served with salt for dinner?”  This is the scene that played as my mother pulled up in the drive.  It was time for us to return to Frog Jump, our home 100 miles away in West Tennessee.  My brother and I didn’t want to leave.  Yet, we must; school would be back in session in less than a week. 

As we loaded our belongings into the car, Grandmommy ushered Momma over to the makeshift spool table and prompted her to choose the best tomatoes resting on the Carlisle Weekly.  Grandmommy gave my mom the grandest and reddest tomatoes.  How could she just give them away?  It was easy for Grandmommy, as if they were intended for my mom from the beginning, when her grandmother’s weathered hands dropped them in the ground as a seed.  After we carefully packed the tomatoes in the car and hugged our last goodbye, we were on the road to Frog Jump.  Grandmommy stood at the end of the driveway waving as her worn housecoat blew in the wind, and we were out of sight.  A single tear rolled down my cheek.  I could only think of the upcoming summer and the image of my Grandmommy giving away her future tomato harvest, which was already intended for my mother and whomever else came along Grandmommy’s path.

Now, years later, I remember Grandmommy’s famous tomatoes as I work in my studio, on my specialty, clay.  Though it is not nestled in the ground as a seed or cultivated in the hot July sun, it too is labored – mixed, wedged, and molded by my hands.  As I work the clay, the very Earth that nurtures all seedlings, I think about how meaningful Grandmommy’s tomatoes have been to me.  However, the physical tomatoes themselves have not moved me as much as what they represent.  They have challenged me to acknowledge that simple things in life, though small they seem, can sway us in significant ways.  Reflecting on this self-discovered concept, I began to consider the little, yet great, influences we experience daily.  I asked myself, “Can my ceramic sculptures, the very fruits of my labor, like prized tomatoes be intended for someone?  Can they be given away?”

In the work I create, the people and things that have influenced me are evident.  A teacher’s words, the introduction of a new art medium, and farm-spent summers are planted in what I make.  Its whimsical nature gives credit to my desire to be a child again - the longing to stand on Grandmommy’s fresh-swept carport and see the importance of a simple gift of homegrown tomatoes through a child’s eyes is present.  The colors, basic and bright, yet, antiqued or distressed, imply a sense of nostalgia or antiquity.  In the end, the pieces will be given away.  Given to the ones for whom they were intended from the time the clay was taken out of the Highwater Clay box to when they were finally pulled out of the L & L Kiln that warmed them to approximately 1950 ⁰F. 

If I were to visit Milburn and Grandmommy’s farm again today, it wouldn’t be the same.  Yes, the carport would still be there along with the gravel on which she walked in her worn house-slippers. There might even be remnants of the tomatoes themselves found in weathered wooden stakes that once supported the plants on which they grew.  However, Grandmommy wouldn’t be there.  Time has taken away her ability to garden and work the earth as she once did.  Yet, the one thing that will always reside on that carport in Western Kentucky is the memory of gifts, influences, and intentions; for that is what Grandmommy left there. 

Grandmommy's now vacant tomato table

River of Grace

I went down to the river to pray and fellowship with Jesus today hoping for refreshment - hoping for clarity of mind and a return to peace and joy with Him. It is typical from me to do this when I feel discouraged and lonely. When the Lord is teaching me something that is difficult for me to grasp. When He wants me to surrender and place all of my trust in Him.  Each time, He never fails to deliver and I am left realizing that I need to meet Him more often.  Meet Him in His Creation where He is always right there waiting for me.  He is always there.  I just have to be willing to go. Yes, I have quite times with Him daily, but there is something special about going to meet Him in His Creation. It is where I am away from it all; away from the phone, away from the noise, away from the distractions of this world. It is only me and His music – the sound of the river crashing gently over the rocks; even the buzzing of the mosquito in my ear. Through His Creation He speaks to me. He speaks to me when I choose to listen.

As I ate my sandwich, watching the river flow, I found myself studying the leaves – leaves of varying color. October in Gatlinburg is a beautiful sight. One leaf in particular caught my eye. A rust orange one with purple speckles – a maple leaf, I believe.  It had found itself corned between some rocks off to the side of the current.  Resting; protected from the rushing water.  I studied the surroundings of the leaf; thinking of a friend who might like to have it.  I noticed several profound things - a tree growing out of the side of the bank; its roots exposed and clinging to the rocks and soil around it. How can a living thing grow out of a rock saturated ground? Then, the soil had eroded out from under a large rock to create a small cavern-like nook which housed a multitude of various smooth stones.

In the midst of the smooth stones, I spotted a foreigner – a small piece of glass that had been worn smooth by the flowing river and passage of time.  Who knows how long it took for the water to sculpt that piece of glass.  I looked at the piece of glass and the Lord said to me, “That’s you.  Once a broken shard of glass, sharp and unrefined – dangerous to the touch – who was plunged into my flowing river of grace to soften all your sharp edges.”  That wearing away and journey to becoming smooth is a long one. Sometimes painful. Sometimes scary.  I think it must take a lifetime.  But, He said, “Do not fear because you will be made smooth. Smooth by my grace. That's a promise.” A single tear flowed down my cheek.  So very small a stream compared to His river.  That tear came from a place of gratitude, reassurance, and hope for I know that His River flows  over me daily and it will never run dry.  Praise God from whom ALL blessings flow.

Shard of Glass found in the Little Pigeon River, Gatlinburg, TN

Grandmommy's Feather Pillows

The soft clean sheets engulfed my smooth 9 year old legs as they entered my Grandmommy’s bed after my nighttime bath with pink Dove soap on a warm summer’s night in July.  My head hit the soft feather pillow and I scooted in as close to Grandmommy as I possibly could.  I felt safe to be near her in her silky night gown.  After we were settled, she began to tell me her stories.  “These are feather pillows she would say.  They were made from the feathers in Momma’s feather bed. I wouldn’t have any other pillow but a feather pillow,” she would say.  “Whoo, there ain’t nothing like them.  When I was a little girl we didn’t have anything but feather pillows and my Momma got them from our geese.”  She would raise her head up and down and move it around as she spoke as if she had some sort of nervous habit – the pillow conforming back and forth to her head. I didn’t really think anything about it because that’s just what Grandmommy did when she was talking.  I just laid there and listened to her stories that she would tell.  It was our nightly ritual. I learned about the camp meetings that she would go to at the church when she was a little girl.  I learned about the time she burned 2 chocolate pies during the WWII sugar ration; and how she dumped them out in the woods to hide the fact that she had wasted the sugar by burning the pies.  I learned about a side of Frog Jump that I couldn’t experience, but one that I could imagine.  I could imagine it because I was familiar with the place myself.

The comfort of Grandmommy’s pillow next to my side, with her head in it is gone.  A transient moment in my life, defines a memory that remains permanently etched in my mind.  Yet, while the memory remains, the trust that was put into my Grandmommy’s presence in my life slowly begins to fade away as Grandmommy, 87, now suffers from Alzheimer’s disease.  She is no longer near me and I learn that the trust that was placed in my Grandmommy’s company will soon be gone.  The pillows in The Weight of Glory, symbolize a moment of rest; a moment of no fear and complete trust.  The pillow; cast in concrete though freezes a moment in time and captures it permanent.  I trust that the pillow will not change.  It is captured just the way it is.  To last forever.

Cast Concrete Pillows from the Installation, The Weight of Glory, 2017

Everything that we do is more than what it is.

Anderson Ranch - a place to hone one's artistic skills. In the ceramics program specifically, it is a place where one can sit down at the potter's wheel for the first time to try her attempt to throw the perfect cylinder. A place where even an expert at her craft can be exposed to new ideas and develop existing ones further by being instructed by a new teacher.  This week in the Soldner Studio, it was a place where Suze Lindsay and Kent McLaughlin, a potter couple from North Carolina, taught students from the ages of 88 to 20  how to put a lid on a pot in their course, "Put a Lid on It."  Putting a lid on a pot is not always as easy as it may seem. There are many ways that it can be done. Yet, the challenge is always the same - the fit.  Did you leave enough room for that flange to fit in the gallery after it has been glazed?  Add another level of complication - throw it in an atmospheric kiln and see if that perfect fitting lid still fits. But are these the real reasons that people come to the Ranch?

In talking to a regular Anderson Ranch student - a favorite of mine, Carol, I discovered something special about her take-away from the course.  After talking about a few new favorite discovered glazes, the most important thing that Carol took away from the class and admired most was the way that Suze and Kent interacted with one another. She said that more than technical information, she took valuable life lessons about how we relate to one another. In that moment, I agreed. I said you're right, Carol. Isn't what all of this is about?  It's not just about making pots or working with clay for that matter. It is about something greater.  We do what we do for something else.  That's when I said, "You know, everything that we do is more than what it is."

When an instructor brings an 88 year old student a cup of tea.  When a fellow classmate picks up your lunch plate.  When a fellow intern grabs the other handle of the trash can as his teammate is picking it up to load it into the Mule.  When a studio coordinator adds an extra level of organization to the studio by laying the glaze tests out in a grid by clay body and firing type for the students. When an Artistic Director of 32 years is still hosing out the studio with his interns. These are the things that make a difference. Every little detail. Everything we do from squeeging the floor to grinding a kiln shelf goes into something greater. Each are necessary to get the perfect lid on the perfect pot. The pot is the object that ultimately forms a relationship with an individual.  Yet the pot is only a remnant of what is the most important - the relationship. The relationships that we make are the entire reason that we are even on this planet.

I am describing the relationships that are formed through clay because that is my story. But each of us have our own.  The plumber. The lawn tender. The chef. The janitor. The nurse. Each field does what they do all for people.  The relationships that we form with people through what we do are why we are here. Everything that we do is way more than what that thing is.

Come join the Ranch as it celebrates its 50th Year Anniversary this summer!

For more information see www.andersonranch.org

Epiphany - MUD

The path became familiar.  I smelled the breeze.  It was familiar too.  I wanted to go back and as I turned the curve and reached the top of the hill that fixed my eyes on the bottom land that would lead me to my final destination, I went back.  The hat I wore was the same.  I recalled a bicycle wreck that I had as a child going down this hill because  of the orange hat that I wore.  The wind had caught it and as I tried to pull it back, I lost control and wrecked.  That was the same hill.  As I approached the bottom land I saw that the river was high - or had been.  Part of the road was covered with water.  I knew I would find a way to cross it.  I went as far as I could before the water had completely covered the road.  There was no where to cross.  I looked for a log to make a bridge.  There wasn't one to be found.  So I looked to the other side. 

 

Maybe I can cross over there if I go through the woods a little.  I tried. Nope.  Why didn't I wear rubber boots?  No wonder they were my favorite childhood shoe.  I had walked all that way.  I couldn't go back now.  What would I do? I looked down at my feet and decided the only thing that I could do was take off my shoes and socks and walk through the water and mud.  Fears - they were present.  What if there are snakes?  What if there are sticks that will cut my feet?  Glass? Barbed wire?? Fishing hooks?  Cuckobears?

 

STOP.  Just do it.

 

I cautiously stepped into the water that lay before me and surprisingly - it felt good.  Relief.  My senses were alive as the mud squished between my toes.  Forget the nail polish.  I am not sure what I was walking in but it didn't matter. I was going to cross.  The water was slightly warm in some spots as it was a sunny day.  I smelt the mud in the air.  The soft bed of leaves and grass that were beneath my feet felt good too!  I wadded through the water with caution; not knowing how deep the water was in places.  I looked for places where grass peaked through the water to gauge the depth.  I pressed on.  Before I knew it, I was to the other side and there it was.  The River.  The place where I wasn't supposed to go as a child.  Yet, a place that I went anyway.

 

What is that place for you?

 

You know we have been called and created to be something greater than we could ever imagine. I can't explain it because is too great to fathom. I am learning that most of us are afraid to do what we have been called to do.  We are too fearful to put our feet in mud - to experience the fullness of the life we have been given.  We stay close to home in our safety net with our shoes and socks on - crew ones at that - rather than jumping out into this life that is unknown.  Yet, I think we have been called to jump out.  We are called to GO.  We are called to embrace who it is that we have been created to be. 

 

Unfortunately we are most often too scared to figure out just exactly who we are.  We are too timid.  We stay comfortable in what is known and what is expected and we miss the excitement that is in store for us.  Faith requires action, you know?  It requires TRYING.  I am so guilty of not trying at times.  I doubt. I question. I do not trust.  I ask myself if what I am doing is valid.  Is it valued?  Well it most certainly is if it is what I have been called to do.  I want to experience the fullness of this life that I have been given.  I know I am being led. I know that even if I do fail at times, it is all part of the process.  The process that will make me.  I will just get up and continue to follow.  In my human nature I fear, but in faith, I can trust.  I pray that I will go where I am led so that I may experience the life that I have been called to live to the fullest because I am not my own.

 

If that isn't the good news, I don't know what is!

 

I think that I should put my feet in mud at least once a week.

 

 

And now I know why Mr. Benson said to go jump in the Mississippi River.  I just think that the Forked Deer is better.

 

 

Substance: Faith and Dirt.

Question:

 

If essence means "substance conceived of as an object of understanding and of definition," and substance means, "the structural constitution of a concrete thing," what does it mean when we say faith IS substance?

 

Thoughts from Umberto Eco on the Aesthetics of Thomas Aquinas paired with my Sunday school lesson on "Faith." (January 16, 2016)

 

Webster's Dictionary's full definition of substance is: 

1. 1a :  essential nature :  essence ; b :  a fundamental or characteristic part or quality; c: Christian Science :  god 1b
2. 2a :  ultimate reality that underlies all outward manifestations and change; b :  practical importance :  meaning, usefulness <the…bill—which will be without substance in the sense that it will authorize nothing more than a set of ideas — Richard Reeves>
3. 3a :  physical material from which something is made or which has discrete existence ; b :  matter of particular or definite chemical constitution ; c :  something (as drugs or alcoholic beverages) deemed harmful and usually subject to legal restriction <possession of a controlled substance> <substance abuse>
4. 4 :  material possessions :  property <a family of substance>

This word, substance, carries deep meaning when I really investigate its true definition.  How often  do we use words in a very shallow way or remove them from their original meaning all together?

 

Having said that, what is the substance, the purest essence, of my home?  The land. Dirt. Or as my friend, Brandon would say, soil.  It has been there since the beginning of time.  It is the land that my great great great grandfather, James Elijah Archer trotted across when he settled in Frog Jump, TN in the late 1800s.  It is where he resided until his death in 1938.  It is were an entire community was born.  It is the land that my entire family has worked on. The dirt that was plowed and gave birth to crops that fed them.  Those people are gone.  I never knew them.  Yet, their legacy lives on in the soil where their earthly bodies now lay.  Their spirits have gone on, but their work has not. It lives on in me and in the dirt.  The dirt of Frog Jump is the substance and essence of my home.

 

With that, what if I say that faith in Christ is substance?  That is what I believe. 

 

I am currently working towards using the substance dirt which is the essence of my home to represent the substance of my faith in Christ.

 

Just the same, the land that was promised to Abraham was a token of his faith.  In my study on Faith by Ron Dunn, the author writes, "When at long last he finally reached the land of promise, the land God had given him for an everlasting possession, Abraham lived as an alien."  He lived as an alien in his own promised land? But see, that land was only a representation of the promise that God made to Abraham which was to have eternal life and dwell with him through faith. 

 

It is only through faith that I can believe in eternal security through Christ.  The author writes, "That is where faith finds its rest, its promised land; not in the transient blessings of this age, but in the very presence of God.  The faith that pleases God lives as an alien in the land of promise."

 

The physical and earthly security that land represents for us is parallel to the promise that I have from Christ through my faith in Him.

 

Dirt represents the substance and the essence of my faith.

 

 

Evidence

Evidence. This word keeps coming up in my life today.  It came up in class.  It came up in my Sunday school lesson.  God gave us evidence that He exists.  Faith is not blind.  Biblical faith is very concrete.  I am thankful for God's Word.  Without it, Christians would have no faith.  Like Paul said in 1 Corinthians 15:14, "And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith."  We have no faith without the evidence that Christ lived, died, and rose again.  We know this is true because of God's Word. It provides us with evidence that is concrete. Real life people sharing real life testimonies that paint a picture of what happened.  It is TRUE.  Absolutely true.  And if it is true, we should take God's every Word as fact. 

 

What is art anyway?

Lewis concludes in Chapter 1 of Mere Christianity (1952) with two points, "First, that human beings,all over the earth, have this curious idea that they ought to behave in a certain way, and cannot really get rid of it.  Secondly, that they do not in fact behave in that way.  They know the Law of Nature; they break it.  These two facts are the foundation of all clear thinking about ourselves and the universe we live in (Lewis, 1952, p.8).

 

Having read that, I start to try and understand what this means to me and my work.  From reading this, it seems as if there is a moral standard/code that we as human beings adhere to - I agree with Lewis.  With that, how does this standard apply to and translate to art?  Is there a standard that we are trying to achieve in making art?  I hear a lot of talk these days about how art can be anything we want.  Is this because there was/is a standard but in our human nature have decided to break the Law of Nature?  Is art supposed to break rules or point to a standard? It is the intent of the artist that matters; which to some extent, I agree.  However, I start to wonder what is art then?  I am interested in having these conversations. We are all getting a Master of Fine Arts degree, but we never talk about this in a real way.  We all just say we make art, but why?  If what Lewis is saying is true, it seems as if there must be some rules about art that we strive to adhere to as well.  However, as he said, it is our choice to adhere to them or not.  If art is a depiction of our values, worldview, etc. what are we communicating?

 

I am thinking about these topics in what I do.  I strive for my work to adhere to a standard and depict my values and worldview, but how are those things being communicated?  I am asking myself, am I being successful?  I think art should lead viewers to consider something greater than themselves and maybe question their current view of the topic being addressed by the artist.  This is all for a purpose so that we can grow, work together, and come closer to understanding truth in this world.  I do not believe it is relative.

 

Lewis, C.S. (1952). Mere Christianity. New York, NY:  HarperCollins Publishers.

 

I will close with a quote from artist Mako Fujimura that I have been thinking about,

 

"We are today, border-less in more ways than one.  As we have become multi-cultural, we have become "multi-phrenic." There is no true, lasting expression of the sublime in a center-less world.  If there is no center, there is no periphery border in which art can thrive.  Today we need a centralizing vision of our being" (Fujimura, 2007, p.5).

 

This is an interesting concept - one that I am trying to wrap my mind around.  If there is no center, there are no boarders?  Webster defines border as "a boundary between places" or "an outer part or edge."  With that I ask the question, do we need borders in art?  If we do need borders - why?  If borders are defined by the center, what is the center?  If one says that borders are not necessary, does that mean that a center is not necessary?

 

Fujimura, Makoto (2007). River Grace. New York: Poiema Press: International Arts Movement. 

 

Mona Lisa by Leonardo da Vinci (1503-1517)

 

 

Bye and Bye

There’s a land that is fairer than day,
And by faith we can see it afar;
For the Father waits over the way
To prepare us a dwelling place there.

 

Refrain:

In the sweet bye and bye,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore;
In the sweet bye and bye,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

 

 38” x 5” x 22” - Tree Nymph butterfly specimen courtesy of the Florida Museum of Natural History, 23K gold leaf, balsa wood veneer on birch panel, stainless steel pins, brass screws, encased in UV filtering acrylic vitrine fabricated by Faulkner Plastics of Miami, FL

 

Commissioned by Mrs. Linda Fuchs 

Dasburg President's House at the University of Florida

 

The title, Bye and Bye is inspired by the cherished hymn, “In the Sweet Bye and Bye”

Excerpt from In the Sweet Bye and Bye by Sanford F. Bennett (1868)

In the beginning...

I began making ceramic eggs last spring as metaphors for the concept of home.  Reflecting on my thoughts have led me to realize that maybe I am thinking about the egg as a metaphor for home in relation to its role of raising children.  Home is fragile and precious.  Like the egg, it is also the container of life and the beginning of all things.  This is the role of the home in our culture and society.  It begins a child’s life and prepares them for the world they will face.  Childhood is also precious and a very fragile time.  It is critical to nurture and protect it.  It affects the way children learn to move and interact with people in this world even into adulthood.  If this development is altered, trauma can happen.  Trauma can be overcome - the trials we face make us who we are.  The good news is that there is always hope for intervention if we humble ourselves and allow it to happen.

 

 

"Mom, where do babies come from?"

In reading some from, Children & Adolescents: Interpretative Essays on Jean Piaget, author David Elkind makes an interesting point about the development in children and their question asking.

 

"One of the earliest themes in a child's questioning has to do with origins.  The beginnings of things, particularly of living things, are a great mystery to children, just as they were to the Greek philosophers."

 

Elkind goes on to give examples of common questions that children begin to ask around the age of 5 or 6.  Questions like "How does the baby get in mommy's stomach?" or "Who was the mother when everybody was a baby?"

 

Parents should seek to answer these sort of questions in a way that is appropriate to the child's level of understanding. 

 

Elkind goes on to say, "If the parent feels uncomfortable about invoking God in answering such questions he can always ask the child what he thinks and the child is likely himself to supply the theological explanation."

 

Pretty cool.

 

 

"For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities - his eternal power and divine nature - have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made so that men are without excuse." Romans 1:20

 

 

Works Cited

 

Elkind, David. Children & Adolescents: Interpretive essays on Jean Piaget. New York: Oxford University Press, 1970.



 

 

"Leave it To Beaver!"

Leave it to Beaver! Starring: Barbara Billingsley, Hugh Beaumont, Tony Dow, and Jerry Mathers as the Beaver.

In a male commentator’s voice, these are the words that have echoed from television sets across America millions of times since this renowned sitcom’s first debut in October 1957.  Even if one has not heard or seen it himself, he knows of it.  It is familiar.  This sitcom painted the picture of what it looked like to live in 1950s American suburbia.  Almost 60 years later, its influence lives on in our country.  While some people are appalled by this picture of family and suburbia life screaming “women’s rights!” or “end male domination,” many people lust over this ideal.  For those who are attracted to the marriage and family of Ward and June Cleaver, what is it about their life that is so appealing?   Is there an innate desire to live this way or is it merely an image or façade painted by our culture – a social construct? 

 

We have almost been convinced that if we lived the way the Cleaver’s did, we would be safe and secure.  Warm in our suburban home, surrounded by our white picket fence that formed the perimeter around our plush freshly mowed lawn, setting down to the table to eat a homemade baked apple pie served to us by our mother in a pearl necklace, we would be safe.  Safe.  Yes – safe – for a moment.  A fleeting moment.  Yet, life happens and sometimes we are not given that apple pie. In fact, many of us aren’t.  Then, what do we do?  Give up? Hang up the towel?  No.  There is something greater.  We have never been promised comfort or security on this Earth.  That is not the point of this life.  This life is a journey and sometimes it is a difficult one.  This life is a journey to becoming something greater if we allow ourselves to become it.  One day, this life will end. Then and only then will we experience eternal glory, eternal security, and eternal comfort.  Ward and June Cleaver do not determine where I spend eternity.

 

 

 

“In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials.  These have come so that your faith – of greater worth than gold which perishes even though refined by fire – may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.” 1 Peter 1:6-7 

 

 

This too shall pass....

Security, safety, purpose, and love. Humans are on a search to find these things. Whether they be physical, emotional, relational, or spiritual, we all want security.  In the country in which we live, America, there are many things that seem to provide us the opportunity to be secure -  physical homes, institutions, systems, organizations, and structures.  In comparison to other nations, America is rich.  However, how long will these man-made and imposed orders last?  They will not - they are merely attempts to achieve what is really to come.  At any moment, a disaster could bring it all crashing down and our perfect ideas of security will be no more.  No more white picket fences, perfectly manicured lawns, or even organizations that seek to help those in need.  Everything will pass.  What will we be left with?  I challenge you to consider if the world as you know it were to fall apart, what would you do?

 

 

 

Wisteria Lane from the set of Desperate Housewives

 

 

"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." 2 Corinthians 4:18

 

Standards: Recent thoughts about my work

In my art, I am searching for how to communicate my ideas on the value of the Christian faith and worldview in relationship to the idea of one’s personal security and how it is illustrated through the home and family.  I am seeking to illustrate value, purpose, standards, and truth within these topics, but also the redemption that is available when we fail.  I believe there is an ultimate security and standard to be found.  What does that look like? How can we attain it, then nurture and protect it?

History of American Ceramics - Where do I fit? Minimalism and Clay

Some studies and thoughts supporting graduate studio practice that will hopefully help me determine where I fall within the history of what we call American Ceramics....

 

Minimalism - an art movement of the 1950s - 1970s that stripped forms down to the essence of their being. Some refer to it as a reaction against the movement of Abstract Expressionism which brings to mind the work of Jackson Pollock or for us clay folk, Peter Voulkos.  While there is no denying the brilliance of the abstract expressionist... I mean, look at the life that Voulkos brought to the clay... there is for me personally, some sort of comfort that can be seen in more minimal work.

 

When I think of minimalism, I think of Donald Judd and Carl Andre and I see order. There is repetition and order and for me, it is comforting.  There are modular units that are grouped together to create a larger form or installation.

 

When we get to clay and this movement... Garth Clark has some interesting things to say about it.  He says in his essay, "Geert Lap - Some Notes on Minimalism in Ceramic Art,"

 

"The modern traditions of ceramics have tended towards the expressionistic and the hand-made. Minimalism, with its implicit acceptance of the contemporary industrial landscape, has been suspect because of its identification with machine-made objects and materials.  the more obvious the hand of the maker, most ceramicists believed, the more obvious the art content.  The fear of being mistaken for machine-made production ware, in conjunction with a deeply felt anti-intellectualism and anti-conceptualism, has kept ceramics away from the minimalist arena."

 

Clark goes on to describe the art of Lap in the essay, but I would like to focus and think about what Clark said about clay people staying away from minimalism for fear of their work appearing machine made. 

 

John Mason began to defy this in the 1970s with his large "X" forms and usage of firebrick to create modular units on the floor.  The brick are yes, machine made....

 

But my interest is in the production of minimal forms in a way that still appears handmade. Currently, my solution to this is by press-molding... Not the most efficient way.  There is something about the labor that is involved in creating the pieces each individually. I use my hand on each one and they have a story.  Isn't this what is so powerful about clay?  It has a memory. We have a memory. The metaphors that can be made between clay and the human life are infinite. Why is that? 

 

I don't want to take away the hand and the story from the pieces, I create.  They can be merged with the minimal form in which I personally press the clay. Why am I doing this? I don't have all the answers yet. That is why I am here and that is why I continue to make. If I knew the answer, I might just go try my hand in brain surgery.

 

Voulkos

 

 

Mason's Bricks

 

 

My Bricks

 

School of Life : Lesson 2 - People Pleasing vs. the Truth and Nothing but It

People pleaser.  I am often guilty as charged.  I have "known" it is not the best way to be, but it seems as if I am truly realizing why it is not good at all as I find myself in graduate school faced with many things that oppose my convictions. 

 

In every situation, I must hold true to my convictions.  This isn't easy.  It requires a lot of confidence.  I am learning.  If we are not honest with ourselves and one another, no one is ever satisfied.  We will continue to carry around feelings of hurt, discomfort, and miscommunication. We would all be flakes.  I don't want to be a flake.

 

In a recently watched episode of "Leave it to Beaver," June tells Beaver, "You'll always be safe if you tell the TRUTH."  https://youtu.be/7kZtpML1RHM?t=833

 

What does telling the truth and honesty have to do with being a people pleaser?  It has everything to do with it.

 

Ever just say what you know you want people to hear so they will like you?  Ever don't say what you really think for fear of offending someone even when you know what is right?  What is beating around the bush?  Passive aggressive?  What is love?

 

"Love is patient, love is kind.  It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love NEVER fails." - 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

 

This is how we must share truth and discipline.  It is tough - tough love - not always squishy, but it is all of the above.  How do we do this?

 

"Simply let your "yes" be "yes" and your "no" be "no."" - Matthew 5:37

 

No need to make excuses. I am willing to bet people will respect you if you share your true feelings in love - REAL LOVE.

 

For it is this I have been commanded...

 

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.  This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself."

- Matthew 22:37-39

 

This love is sharing with brothers what is true even when it hurts.  Even if they may not like you anymore.  It is not condemning, but kind and patient.  It is honest.  It is genuine.  It is forgiving.  It is true.  This folks, is Christ's infinite love.  He is who I strive to please for it is His face that I want to see. 

 

"Beaver's Bad Day" (1958)

Leave it to Beaver

June and Theodore (Beaver) Cleaver

School of Life: Lesson 1 - Paddle at Your Own Pace

Included in my thoughts and research supporting studio practice during graduate school are my thoughts and lessons in the School of Life.  I will attempt to keep up with this for the Lord has taught and continues to teach me many lessons this year.  By documenting them, I hope to share the good news, encourage others, and most importantly remind myself of the lessons that I have already learned - I often forget them.

 

December 11, 2014 - I joined some friends from UF Ceramics to take a trip to Cedar Key, FL to partake in some kayaking adventures.  This was to be my second kayaking voyage.  My first, was in Curaumilla, Chile where I kayaked the COLD Pacific Ocean.  I should have learned this lesson then.  I happened to "lose" my breakfast in the great Pacific if you know what I mean.  Not fun.  Well maybe that was a different lesson - one from childhood - don't go in the water for 30 minutes after you eat!!!  At any rate, I was going to conquer this second trip!  I tend to get a little bit competitive at times.

 

As we launched the boats in the water, I could see the destination island in the distance.  For a rookie kayaker, it seemed to be at least an hour away - not really.  My friends zoomed ahead and continued to glance back at me, "How are you doing, Paige?"  "Oh fine," I would reply.  While inside, I was a little frustrated with myself and I wanted to be further ahead than I was.  I was tempted to pick up my pace and catch up with the troop.  As I did, I could feel my body saying to me, "Slow down!"  I began to feel a little nauseated and was finally forced to stop.  A voice inside of me said, "Look at this beautiful gulf."  I paused and looked and the rays of sun were bouncing of the surface of the water.  There were birds swooping down and flying so close to the water that their feathers just gracefully skimmed its surface. "WOW!" I thought. "Look at what I see when I SLOW DOWN to ENJOY what is before me and RELAX for a change."  I began to paddle again, but this time with a different attitude.  I decided that I WILL reach the island when I reach the island.  Maybe that is not when my friends reach it, but that's okay because maybe it was that kayaking adventure that was meant to teach me this very important life lesson!

 

I viewed the trip as a metaphor for life.  We're all on this kayaking adventure.  We're going out into the open sea with nothing in sight of what could come across our path.  Through it we learn lessons.  It may be hard to learn them.  Growing pains aren't comfortable.  However, if you believe what I believe, we have been promised by our Lord Jesus Christ that we WILL reach the island if we trust Him.  Be who you are.  Learn as you learn.  Find joy in the experience of it all.  Are we to be diligent at this? Of course, but don't allow trying to catch up with the crowd get in the way of your pace and what you could be learning.  If you try to race ahead, you may get sick (if you're kayaking) or most importantly, you may miss what it is that God is trying to teach you.  His plan for us is individual and I can't expect mine to line up with someone else's.  It is unique.

 

Are you paddling at your own pace?

 

 

Kayak Cedar Keys!!!! http://kayakcedarkeys.com/

 

 

My Manifesto - I Love to Tell THE Story - Part I

In conversation a few weeks ago with my mentor, he encouraged me to write a manifesto for my art.  I was at my wits end, frustrated, and trying to figure out what I am doing.  I think grad school will do that do someone.  It is really hard.  I won't pretend that it isn't.  However, it is good and necessary to experience in order that one might truly own his work.  I have learned that my work can no longer be about what someone has told me to make it about or even what I think it should be.  No, it has to be what One greater than me has commanded it to be.

 

My second semester of graduate school has been a challenge to figure out that goal.  All I could figure out is that I wanted to tell a story... What story?  I had an idea. "I love to tell the story of unseen things above of Jesus and his glory, of Jesus and His love.  I love to tell the story because I know tis true.  It satisfies my longings as nothing else can do."  That's the story I wanted to tell and that's the story that I wanted to sing everyday.

 

PROBLEM! Not everyone can relate to that story the way I know it and not everyone cares about Jesus the way I do.  HOWEVER, there is something that we all have in common and that is that we are all human.  WOW. Yep. We are.  Flawed and sinful to the core. I know I am anyway.  I need saving.  No matter how hard I try, I can't fix or save myself at all. I must surrender and die to myself daily.  So I have a story - MY story.  It tells the story of Jesus and how He loved and saved me.  Doesn't everyone want to be saved by something?  Doesn't everyone want to be loved?  Can't I show human's desire to be safe and loved? Yes, I can.  That is what I will strive to do.  It won't have a cross stamped on it, but it will seek to share the story of His truth and love that is unchanging and eternal.

 

In reading a book that was recommended to me by none other than my mentor again, Saving Leonardo: A Call to Resist the Secular Assault on Mind, Morals, & Meaning, I came across a paragraph that screamed out to me, step it up a notch, Paige!!!!!!!!  You're on a mission!

 

Christian art should grow out of the robust confidence that nothing is unredeemable - that Jesus himself entered into the darkest levels of human experience and transformed them into sources of life and renewal.  A full-orbed work of Christian art should include all three elements of the biblical worldview: creation, fall, redemption.  It should allude to the beauty and dignity of the original creation.  But it should also be transparently honest about the reality of sin and suffering.  Finally, it should always give hints of redemption.  No matter how degraded or corrupt a character may be, he or she should be portrayed with the dignity of being redeemable.  Some ray of hope should penetrate the darkness....

 

I seek to...

 

.....create humane and healthy alternatives that speak deeply to the human condition.

 

Each and every one of us have a purpose in life.  We are created which means we have a Creator with a purpose.  I pray that I strive to live out that purpose everyday.   I have to tell my story.  It is the only one I have and because I am the only Paige there is, it will be told through a new lens - my lens. 

 

"I love to tell the Story,  'twill be my theme in glory. To tell the old, old story of Jesus and His love."